


wishful thinking

by aglowSycophant



Series: eight adapts to the surface and gets a girlfriend along the way [1]
Category: Splatoon
Genre: 2 months after octo ex, Canon Compliant, Cross-Posted on FanFiction.Net, F/F, Mutual Pining, Sort Of, oe + hero more 2 took place at the same time but thats neither here nor there, pearl physically adopted 8, the fuck do i tag this as
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-05
Updated: 2019-04-28
Packaged: 2020-01-05 04:46:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 16,508
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18358898
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aglowSycophant/pseuds/aglowSycophant
Summary: Three wishes she would stop feeling like she's about to die whenever she's around Eight. Eight wishes inklings weren't so weird. Four wishes her friends would just make out already so she can continue on with her life. Only one of these come true.





	1. In which Three scares away some birds

Three will be the first to admit, she’s got some flaws.

1: Three cannot and does not have many hobbies. Like, she’s _tried_ to have hobbies besides being sick of everyone’s shit and turfing, but maintaining more than two (well, really one) interests is _tiring._ It’s easier and more cost-efficient to just have one or two real interests, right?

2: Three uses her hobbies as a way to vent frustrations, which isn’t too bad on its own, but her hobbies (hobby) are just so fucking _expensive._ Like, fucking hell, maybe Three just wants to whack someone with a roller for a few hours? But then her roller gets damaged because she flails it around like a baseball bat at times and now her roller’s fucking broken and, yeah, she _has_ an extra one, but it’s not _yellow_.

And yellow is inherently better than _purple._

 **_Fuck_ ** _purple._

3: She ignores her problems when they come up because it’s worked for all of her deep-rooted emotional trauma so it’s going to work here, dammit. Like right now, for example, when her roller let out a loud cracking noise towards the end of the match that she just had. And, yeah, the handle is metal, but it’s not Sardinium and therefore unable to withstand being slammed into craniums fifty times a day. Which _sucks,_ if you’re wondering.

The crack in it is in the middle of the handle, which would snap clean in half if she swung it again. _Which_ **_sucks,_ ** _if you’re wondering._ And now Three is just even _more_ pissed and stressed about fucking **everything** and she’d usually vent out her frustrations by flinging her roller around dangerously and a bit haphazardly **but she can’t do that now** **_because it’s fucking cracked._ ** And, whatever, that’s _usually_ fine because Three can just go give it to Ammo Knights and Sheldon’ll have it fixed by next week, but Three is stressed _now,_ dammit, and if Four sees Three using the stupid, basic fucking _Splat Roller_ she’d tease Three about it and then she’d get arrested for _murder._

Three doesn’t know why murder is illegal. Spawnpoints exist in the city, and, even if they didn’t, a world without Four doesn’t sound so bad. At least Three wouldn’t have to hear that fucking shrill, nasally voice everywhere she went.

So. Yeah. Three has to go get her roller fixed and make up excuses as to why she’s not turfing for the next week or so. Because _fuck you,_ **_Four._ **

Maybe Three is antagonizing Four a bit too much. Four’s not that bad, for _Four,_ even if she teases Three a lot over _fucking_ **_everything_ **and has bad opinions on most things.

Like her fucking pizza toppings. She eats _pineapple,_ but she gives Three shit for liking shrimp on hers? Pineapple is a fucking _tropical fruit,_ and nothing tropical or fruit should be on a fucking _pizza._ “It’s _good,_ Three!” she’d insist, and in the same breath, give Three shit for some of the meals she made in the midst of a depressive episode. Ketchup in ramen isn’t even that _bad._ Three would rather eat _literal shit_ than pineapple on pizza.

Four just doesn’t have _standards._

But… Ugh, Three’s still more comfortable around Four. She might even call Four her _friend,_ but that sounds really gross and mushy and feeling-y. Three refers to her as an acquaintance with benefits, which is a title Four hates because “It sounds like we’re fucking, just say friends” but she doesn’t _get_ it.

Three thinks she has relationships on a level slightly below the _acquaintanceship_ between her and Four with all the other Squidbeak Splatoon agents.

All the others, and then Agent 8 showed up.

Agent 8, or “Just Eight, please,” is fucking **weird.** And not because she’s an octoling and makes the occasional social blunder, but… Well, partially because of the social blunder thing, but she just makes Three feel fucking _weird._

Like, floaty, happy, anxious, I’m-going-into-anaphylactic-shock kind of weird.

_And Three doesn’t know WHY!_

Three’s supposed to be cool and stoic and Agent- _fucking-_ 3\. And then, when she’s around Eight, she _stops_ being cool and stoic. Or, as Four put it, “An emotionally-conflicted moron that can’t reali-” but Three punched her in the gut before she finished her sentence.

And Three doesn’t want to figure out _why,_ she just wants to figure out how to make herself _not_ like that. Because it’s fucking _dumb_ and _stupid,_ fuck you.

So. That roller, huh? Yeah.

Three turns her phone on to go check Ammo Knight’s hours, just to be sure. They closed in ten minutes, so she’d have to go tomorrow. The fee for a new handle was 10,000 C, but because Three used the Hero Roller _Replica,_ there was another 5,000 C added to it because it’s a “custom design” or some bullshit like that.

Which is _stupid,_ by the way.

Her phone buzzes in her hand as she gets a text from Four.

 **Four, 5:50 PM:** Hey, are you in the Square?

 **You, 5:50 PM:** Yea I just finished a match but I’m done for the day

 **Four, 5:51 PM:** Great! You wanna go get something to eat? There’s a pizza place that’s supposed to be pretty good

 **You, 5:51 PM:** It can’t be that good if you want to eat there

 **Four, 5:51 PM:** Are you trying to judge my food choices? You put RELISH on NACHOS

 **You, 5:51 PM:** Uh yea its because its good

 **Four, 5:51 PM:** No??? It ISN’T???????

 **You, 5:52 PM:** You put pineapple on pizza like some kind of fucking animal

 **You, 5:52 PM:** Pineapple and tofu

 **You, 5:52 PM:** Just who do you think you are

 **Four, 5:52 PM:** It’s not that BAD 3!!!!! You’re just grumpy because I have working tastebuds

 **You, 5:52 PM:** Oh YOU have working tastebuds?? Ok

 **Four, 5:52 PM:** >:( Whatever!!!! Anyways

 **Four, 5:52 PM:** Are you going? We can meet you outside Deca

 **You, 5:53 PM:** We? Who’s we

 **Four, 5:53 PM:** Me and 8

Three’s face heats up and she gets a surge of butterflies when she reads that for some goddamn reason. She didn’t… Ugh. Three _likes_ hanging out with Eight, which is more than she can say about most people. Except Three also _hates_ hanging out with Eight. Because of the anaphylactic shock feelings. The ones that she has right now. And she still doesn’t know _why_ but FUCK IT, she’ll say yes.

 **You, 5:54 PM:** Sure

 **Four, 5:54 PM:** Great! Can’t wait to deal with thirty minutes of you being an emotionally constipated moron

 **You, 5:54 PM:** Why do you say that?

Three slings her pretty fucked roller over her shoulder. She’d have to stop by her car and drop it off there.

 **Four, 5:54 PM:** Nevermind

 **Four, 5:54 PM:** We don’t have time to get into all of that

 **You, 5:54 PM:**?? Ok

 **You, 5:54 PM:** I have to stop by my car. Roller

 **Four, 5:54 PM:** Sure, sure

 **Four, 5:54 PM:** We’ll be here!

* * *

 

Three slams the car door shut and sighs. Briefly, she checks her reflection in the side-view mirror and dryly laughs. She shouldn’t be so _worried_ over fucking PIZZA. With _Four,_ of all people. The Queen of Bad Opinions and Always Being Wrong. The person who thinks Wetallica is a bad band. The person who willingly eats cucumbers because they’re _healthy_ and _I want to live to twenty-five,_ **_Three._ **

And Eight. Just Eight. Just Agent 8. Three doesn’t talk to Eight much because she doesn’t like feeling like a moron. Three’s not even sure they’ve had a proper conversation in a month, because that was when Three started feeling like she was going to die of cardiac arrest whenever she was around Eight, and that was weird and not fun and it’s STILL weird and not fun.

They’d text from time-to-time, though, but it was never about anything super important.

 **You, 6:01 PM:** Hey 8

 **Eight, 6:01 PM:** Three!! Hi

 **You, 6:01 PM:** What’s up

 **Eight, 6:01 PM:** We’re waiting by Deca Tower, Four said you had to put your weapon away

 **You, 6:02 PM:** Yeah I’m on my way back

 **You, 6:02 PM:** Have you had pizza before?  
**Eight, 6:02 PM:** Four took me for some last week! There was a lot to choose from but I ate pretty much everything

 **You, 6:02 PM:** Do you have a favorite topping?

 **Eight, 6:02 PM:** Ooooh IDK!!! They’re all really good, except for tofu. IDK how Four eats that, it’s so squishy and sad.

 **Eight, 6:02 PM:** Don’t be mad but I think pineapple is kinda good

 **You, 6:02 PM:** Why would I be mad? We all have different tastes

 **Eight, 6:02 PM:** Four says you threatened her with murder the last time you talked about pizza toppings, so…

 **You, 6:03 PM:** Oh that? Yea I was just joking lol

Three has never used ‘lol’ before in her _life._ She spends the rest of her walk back being stupid and anxious. Which she _shouldn’t_ be, but she is.

 **You, 6:05 PM:** I’m at Deca where are you guys?

 **Eight, 6:05 PM:** Is that you there?

Three looks around. Fucking Deca Tower’s always crowded as shit. How people dealt with this all the time is _beyond_ her. Cod, working at Deca must be a hell unlike any other. Customer service already sucked major ass, but having to deal with cocky teenagers all day… She shudders at the thought.

“Oi, Three!” That shrillness. That pretentious accent. That _volume._

Three turns around towards the voice with a sigh.

“Hey, Four.”

Four waves at Three, pushing up her sunglasses with her other hand. She got her tentacles styled the other day, and they’re in pigtails, crammed into a beret. Her jacket’s either new or she’s owned it for months and never wore it. It also looks way too _warm_ , but what does Three know? The pair of khakis that she’s wearing aren’t new, nor are they exceptionally old, but Four stained them with various paints the other week for the aesthetic, whatever the hell that means. She’s also wearing the exact same pair of Shark Moccasins that she always wears, and they’re a bit worn but also ridiculously clean. Besides the fact that she looks like she’s going to praise modern art for two hours, she doesn’t look too bad.

Beside her is Eight, who waves with much more gusto than Four. Three immediately feels all of her ink rush to her face, because Eight normally wore the most eye-burning and patchwork clothes that she could find. They were usually baggy and comfortable, if not tacky.

And apparently today isn’t _normal._

Eight is, for some fucking reason, wearing some of the Off the Hook sponsored gear. Specifically the Marinated Top that Three saw ads for everywhere. With that, Eight wears a pair of black leggings that a pair of Punk Whites and a Takoroka Visor, her ponytail popping out the top of it. And exactly none of those are clothes Three’s seen Eight wear before.

“Three! It’s good to see you!” She smiles brightly, and it then fades when Three doesn’t respond. “Are you okay?”

“You. I, um. Hey.” Three has to tear her eyes away from Eight’s shirt to meet her gaze. “Yeah, I’m. I’m fine. You just, uh, look different.”

“Like, um, in a bad way..?” Eight bites her lip. “I, um, didn’t pi-”

“NO,” Three says a little too quickly. “It. You look good. Not that you, uh. Don’t. Normally. Like. It’s. It’s new. Is all. Yeah. I’m. I’m gonna shut up now.”

Eight looks relieved and Three thinks she catches Four mumble “I told you so” beneath her breath.

“So!” Four punctuates it with a clap. “Are you all ready?”

Eight nods.

“Yeah, sure,” Three mumbles, feeling a bit underdressed. This morning, she threw on a somewhat-clean shirt, a hoodie that’s probably clean-ish, some shorts, a beat-up pair of flip-flops, and then whatever hat she found lying around first. So, no, her clothes don’t even _match_ but at least they have pockets, which is where she shoves her hands as she walks. “Where are we going, exactly?”

“Sand Dollar Pizzeria. It’s been open for a few months, but I haven’t gone yet. If two of us can agree on pizza toppings, we might get a couple’s discount.”

“You’re so fucking cheap.” Three rolls her eyes. “Aren’t you, like, a professional turfer or something? I don’t think money’s a huge worry for you.”

A sea-green blush forms on her face. “I… Well, I spend most of my money on clothes.”

“I mean, um, I could give you some money for that?” Eight offers. “Pearl gives me money every month, but it’s always way too much. I don’t think she understands how much 100,000 C is…”

“She gives you _what,_ ” Three deadpans. Fucking rich people.

“Yeah, she said it’s a small allowance. But I don’t have anything to spend it on…” Eight laughs a bit to herself. “I can buy lunch, if you want? Or, um, is it dinner..?”

“Dinner, probably.” 6:00 PM (or 6:30 to 7:00, whenever they get there and eat) is pretty early for Three, but it’s way too late to be lunch. Then again, Three usually ate around 11:00 PM (if at all) and then passed out at 2:00 in the morning. Or whenever her eyes physically couldn’t keep themselves open anymore, and she’d usually just collapse on the couch, so her bed was rarely used. “And, uh, you don’t have to buy. If you. Don’t want to.”

“No, it’s fine!” Eight gives Three a smile. Which. She. Guh. “I’d like to buy it! We’re friends, after all, right?”

“Yeah. We, uh. We are.” Three feels _warm_ and _stupid_ is it possible for her head to explode from the amount of ink that’s in it right now because she think it might be possible and haha there’s only one way to find out!! “Um. Friends, that is. Yeah.”

Four rolls her eyes. “Oh, so you can call _Eight_ a friend, but not me? Four, your best friend that you’ve known since the second grade? I’m _offended,_ Three.”

“Die mad about it.”

“Wow, okay,” she scoffs.

A few pigeons land on a nearby bike rack. Eight makes a soft happy noise (oof) and pulls out her phone to take a picture of them.

While she’s distracted, Four elbows Three in the arm.

“What?” she mumbles.

There’s a certain look in Four’s orange eyes. It’s a look that Three is very familiar with. The fucking _matchmaker_ look.

“You gotta ask her out.”

_What?_

“Excuse me??” Three says, a little more than shocked. “I don’t- I don’t even-”

“Oh, don’t _lie_ to me,” Four snaps. “Come _on._ I see how you look at her. And you look like a shitty cheese stick, with how orange your face is.” Three blushes a little more. “See?”

Well. It’d make sense that those anaphylactic shock feelings are vaguely romantic but there’s no reason for Eight to return them. She got to the surface two months ago, or something like that. Eight’s still adjusting to being on the surface, right? Three glances over at Eight, currently fawning over the pigeons. Yep, still adjusting.

“I- Okay, first of all, my ink is _golden,_ not _orange._ And… Fuck, _maybe_ I kind of like her, but-”

“Don’t ‘but’ me, Three. She was freaking out earlier because she was worried you weren’t going to like her outfit.” … Was she? That’s not very Eight-ish.

“She could just look up to me?”

“Don’t be a narcissist, Three. Look at her.” Three looks over at Eight again. Yeah, still gushing over birds. Four waves her hands in the shape of a rainbow, arms hovering a bit above Three’s shoulders. “Do you see her? Does that look like someone who _doesn’t_ want to fuck you?”

“DON’T _SAY_ THAT,” Three yells.

Eight looks away from the birds because they flew away. Because Three was loud. Because fuck you, Four.

They make eye contact. Three feels her soul shrivel up and die.

“Are you okay?” Eight asks after a few moments of silence.

“One day I am going to kill Four,” Three states calmly, “And it will be a joyous day. The heavens will open up and sing. Tatzelwurm herself will rise from the oceans and congratulate me. ‘Thank you so much, Three. You finally removed that shitstain.’ She will be so happy that I will be gifted immortality, and I will join the Pantheon of the Gods. All hail Agent 3, goddess of fucking killing Agent 4. Shrines will be made in my honor. I’ll become the prime minister for my contributions.”

“Um… Okay.” Eight gives Four a Look. Three doesn’t know what the Look means, but she can guess. She rejoins the two, quickly looking over her pigeon pictures, then turns her phone off.

“So... Are you guys ready?” Four checks her phone for the time. “It’s 6:10, I wanna get there before 7:00.”

“Yeah,” Three mumbles while Eight nods enthusiastically.

As they start walking, Three thinks she catches Eight staring at her, but Eight looks away before she can really be sure. But, unless Three’s imagining it, Eight’s blushing a little..?

Ugh.

Feelings are _dumb._


	2. In which Eight launches her face into a table

Eight’s _excited!_ For pizza! Eight really likes pizza. She can’t think of a food that she doesn’t like! Well. Maybe tofu, because it almost tastes like the nutrition blocks she had in the Domes, but other than that, she can’t think of a bad food! … Well. There’s also pigeon, but it’s less of a “This tastes bad!” and more of a “They’re really cute and eating them makes me feel like a bad person!”, which is more or less the same thing. Eight might prefer tofu to pigeon, actually.

Eight’s also a little super nervous. Because Three is there. She doesn’t hate Three! She’s just. Scared Three hates her.

That fear’s been there for a while, but the other day she asked Pearl and Marina about Three, because Pearl and Marina have the answers to Everything Ever! and their answer was, like, super stupid! Which is kind of a mean thing to say, but it’s _true._

“Three always acts really weird whenever she’s around. Like, she stammers a lot and I don’t know if she’s sick or dying or something?? And maybe I’m just being stupid but she, like, avoids me more and more and I don’t know if I did something wrong, and- Why are you laughing?” she asked.

“Eight,” Pearl started after cackling like a fool, “She likes you.”

“Why would she be avoiding me if she likes me?”

“Well,” Marina said with a sigh, “She’s Three.”

And that reasoning would make sense if it wasn’t the stupidest reasoning ever!!! Because, you know, Three was cool and Eight liked being around Three because Three was cool and Eight was worried because what if she did something and Three was just too nice to say something about it????

“Come on, Eight,” Pearl interrupted her train of thought that was also being said out loud at the same time, “She’s Three. She’d say something.”

And Eight let out a quiet sigh because Three is stupid and inklings are stupid and the surface is stupid and feelings are stupid as well. Take that.

“Fine. Okay.” Surface Rule #1: Accept everything someone tells you. “But... Why would liking someone make you act weird?”

Marina pursed her lips and gave Eight the Romance Talk. And the Romance Talk was stupid and weird and DUMB and Eight didn’t really get it and she still doesn’t really get it but everyone else seemed to get it so Eight just pretended to get it as well.

“So, how do you feel about Three?” she asked after the Talk.

Eight wanted to slam her face into the table. She did not.

“I don’t know,” she mumbled quietly.

“Think about it, then.”

So Eight’s been thinking about it. She learned a decent amount about inkling romance, and then the stupid inkling courting rituals, and she came to the conclusion that they are all Dumb and Stupid but they also Kind Of Make Sense. And then she thought about Three and then she thought about how she _feels_ about Three, and at 3:00 in the morning five days ago she came to the unfortunate realization that the stupid feelings towards Three are kind of romantic.

And because of that, the past five days have been spent panicking because Three won’t return them because Three is cool. Waaaaay too cool for Eight!!

Four talked pretty much the entire time they walked. Eight didn’t mind, because she likes the sound of Four’s voice. Three had a comment here or there, but Eight was quiet for most of it. Because she was _thinking..._ And she tried to stop _thinking..._ , but Eight couldn’t force brain death no matter how much she wanted it, so she just kept _thinking…_

“Hey, Eight.” Oh! A voice. Eight finally stops _thinking…_ and instead looks at the person who spoke. Four! Hi, Four. Four laughs. “We’re here.”

“Oh!” Food!!!!!!!!!! Eight likes food. Food is good. When spelled, they’re pretty much the same word. Fgood. Gfood. (G/F)ood. See? Eight's reinventing the modern Inkling language.

The door to Sand Dollar has a black rim and handle, with a glass pane in the middle. On it are some numbers printed on it in white text. Seeing that they’re all times, Eight's going to make an educated guess and say that they're the hours. Three walks ahead of them and holds the door open for them.

“After you,” she mumbles, looking down at the floor.

“Thanks.” Four walks inside. Eight follows her, but not without thanking Three. Because that’s, like, _rude_ and Eight isn’t _rude!_ Pfft, in the Domes, Eight was known as the Least Rude Octarian EVER! So… Take that!!

The inside of Sand Dollar is a bit darker than everything outside, which is nice. Eight’s kind of very not used to the sun, but she really likes it! Even if it’s suuuuuper bright, like, sheesh! Calm down a little!! Octarians all collectively evolved to have night vision, because the underground doesn’t always have light. And, because of that, the light hurts her eyes after a bit!! So. Yeah. She’s happy to be here where it’s dim-ish.

It’s also kind of cold. Which normally isn’t a bad thing, but Eight’s shirt doesn’t cover as much as a regular shirt. She used to wear shirts like these all the time, but then she got used to surface clothes because the clothes she was used to, would, as some old anemone said, “Attract the wrong kind of attention.” Eight asked Marina what that meant. She shook her head and sighed. “She’s trying to tell you that you look like a slut. Which you don’t, by the way? Old people are stupid.” Which was RUDE!!!! But. Yeah. Eight stopped wearing clothes like that. So Eight kind of forgot what it’s like to have, like, her entire midriff out. She’s not oblivious to the looks she’s been getting, but… They don’t seem _all_ that bad.

… Especially not the one Three gave her earlier.

But.

Ahem.

Anyways.

There’s a small stand… Podium… Wait-y thingy… WHATEVER!!! Inkling’s not even Eight’s first language, so YEAH! Eat that!!!! But, um, yep, behind the _thing_ is a pretty tired-looking inkling in a kinda boring uniform (all uniforms are boring, change Eight’s mind) and she drums her fingers against it. She looks up when the three walk in, and puts on a fake smile.

“Welcome to Sand Dollar! How many?” Eight isn’t a stranger to fake voices, but _heck._ She might have cringed a little when she heard it, not like she’ll tell anyone.

“Three, please,” Four responds in an equally fake voice.

“Okay!” The hostess grabs three menus. “Would you like a booth or a table?”

“Booth, thank you.” AH Four’s voice is so FAKE and her smile is so FAKE and it’s _bad_.

“Alright, follow me, please!” She leads them to a booth. Four sits down first and sets her bag next to her, then spreads her legs so she’d take up as much room as cephalopodly possible.

Jerk.

Eight sits on the _other_ side of the table with a nice view of the door. And Three, who tried to discreetly flip Four off, sits down beside her.

“Jacob will be your server tonight, please enjoy your meal!” With another super fake smile, she’s off.

Eight can see Four adjust in her seat. When she’s not taking up 10,000 units of available space on a booth, she looks nice. Her jacket also looks… Comfy. She offered to buy Eight a jacket like that, but Eight didn’t want to impose because it was like 20,000 C and that’s _way_ too much for a _jacket_. Though, right now, she... Wishes she had one. It’s cold in here.

“Are you cold?” Three asks, reading her mind. “Here.” She reaches towards the base of her hoodie and starts to take it off.

“No, no, it’s fine. Three, you really don’t-”

“Don’t lie to me, Eight,” she mutters with an eye roll. Taking it off, she pulls one of the sleeves out. “You rubbed your arms four times in the past minute.”

… Well, she’s got her there.

Three ungraciously hands Eight the hoodie. Eight takes it, blushing, and puts it on.

“Sorry if it smells,” she apologizes. “It was the cleanest one I could find.”

Eight was going to ask what she meant, but then she notices. And… Yeah. Three’s hoodie smells a little bit like sweat, a lot like ink, and there are small hints of weapon grease here and there… Despite all of that, it still manages to smell like Three. Really, it’s not the worst thing she’s smelled, and she tells Three that.

“... Thanks.” Three’s face is still a bit yellow, but not nearly as bad as before. She looks away from Eight and starts reading the menu.

Eight picks hers up from the table and starts looking through it. And _heck_ _,_ there’s a lot to choose from! Eight’s overwhelmed!! … Well, she can pretty much get whatever, right? Since she’s paying and all, and she’s got enough money stockpiled that she’s pretty okay with splurging a bit. But… Hm. Eight really likes surface food. So… She’s okay with anything! Besides tofu, because pigeon isn’t a pizza topping.

“This is a lot,” she says quietly after rereading the menu for the fifth time.

“Yeah, I get that.” Three rests her head on her palm. Beneath her hoodie, she wore a tank top. And… Now that her hoodie is no longer being worn, Eight can totally see Three wearing the tank top. She thinks it’s called a wifebeater? Which is, like, a _stupid_ name. Why would you call a shirt that??? But… Ugh, _still,_ even if the shirt has a stupid name, Three doesn’t look _bad_ in it. Eight can see her arms, which, yeah, that’s obvious. But since Three turfs a lot and does agent work and carries around a heavy roller at all times, pretty much, she’s, like, kinda muscular, not that Eight cares or anything, but, haha, like, you know, she’s, strong, and Eight’s still a little more muscly than Three, but Eight just spent 10,000 years in Kamabo and she still turfs sometimes, but, still, Three, is, yes?, is that weird, maybe, hey unrelated but it was cold in here not too long ago Eight’s face feels kind of warm, haha, oh god, this is going to be where she dies,

“Eight?” THREE HI HELLO EIGHT WAS NOT STARING AT YOU OR YOUR ARMS BECAUSE THAT’S STUPID AND CREEPY “Fuck, are you okay?”

Eight tries to speak and say words like a normal cephalopod... But she doesn’t. She just says a few incoherent syllables and then sighs and hangs her head, looking down at the booth seat.

Three presses the back of her hand against Eight’s forehead. Which, um, yeah, things? Feeling things with the back of your hand is, um, good, because if it electrocutes you your hand will instinctively pull away instead of the front which will clamp down on it and you’ll die, and no, Eight isn’t changing the subject, shut up!!! Oh and if you’re wondering Eight doesn’t let out a pathetic squeaky sputtery noise because that’s stupid and another cool fact about Eight is that she was voted the Least Stupid Octarian EVER as well so yeah take that.

“You feel warm…” Eight is dead. She died. Rest in peace, Eight Houzuki. Pearl and Marina and Four and possibly Three will all weep and sob at her funeral. _“Poor Eight,”_ they’ll say, _“She died of stupidity.”_ “... Are you sick?”

“No, it’s, um, you……uuuur shirt? Like, it, uh, color? Mhm. You know how, uh, white clothes..?” You know the last chunk of internal monologue that just passed? Repeat it. Repeat _all_ of it. Because Eight, she, ah, shit, there’s no recovering from this.

Three’s hand tenses against Eight’s forehead and she quickly retracts it.

“I, um.” Eight looks up from the seat and over at Three. Her face is currently some shade of yellowy-orange. It reminds her of marigolds, which, it’s, uhhhhhhh notabadcolor NOT THAT EIGHT CARES butshedoesalotactually and um totally completely 100% definitely unrelated but her hearts are all racing and she thinks she might die of a heart attack. “You… Sorry?” Three refuses to meet her gaze. And, well… Neither does Eight. Not at first, at least.

Silence settles over the table as Three looks up from the seat to meet Eight’s eyes. Eight feels too scared to move, too scared to speak… Or, no, not even _scared._ She just… She… Eight doesn’t _know_ how she feels, but she…

Gods, Three… Her eyes are  _stunning._  One is a dark crimson, the other - her right eye - is a brilliant cyan, the pupil white. The skin around it isn’t stained anymore, the unnatural color to her eye being the only remnant of the hijacking.

Three moves to set her hand back down onto the seat, but she lays it on Eight’s hand instead. Eight tenses a bit, and Three breaks eye contact as she yanks her hand away.

“Uh, s-sorry, I…”

“No, no, it’s, um… It’s fine…”

Four sighs heavily and they’re both reminded of her presence.

“My god,” she whispers, “Just get a room.”

A room? Why would they- _oh my god no Four you didn’t she, Eight would, what?, that, she, oh my god, oh my, god, you, she,_ **_fuck_ ** _, oh my god,_

“Four,” Three says quietly in a stern voice, “Please, for the love of god, shut the fuck up.”

Four opens her mouth to speak.

 _“No._ ” Three cuts her off before she even begins. “You... Know you're making her uncomfortable, right?”

She snickers.

“Am I? Dunno, I think she’s kinda into it, aren’t ya, Eight?”

“What? Uh, yeah, wai- NO, I-” WHAT EIGHT WOULD, SHE, HAH, WHY WOULD EIGHT EVER BE, LIKE, _INTO_ STUFF, STUFF THAT IS, LIKE, THAT?, YEAH, SHE, UM, MIND, GUTTER, OUT OF THERE, EIGHT IS, EIGHT, THIS FUCKING SUCKS and she launches her face into the table because SCREW YOU, FOUR. Quietly, she mumbles, “Four, I hate you. So much.”

Four just cackles.

**Jerk.**

“Hi, um…” A _person._ A waiter? ... Yes. F… Food. “Sorry, am I interrupting something?”

“No,” Eight says, voice muffled by the table. Slowly, she sits up. Her forehead might be bruised… Not that she cares much.

“... Right.” He’s an inkling, wearing the same dumb uniform, and he clears his throat. “I’m Jacob, and I’ll be your server tonight. What can I start you off with to drink?”

“I’d like a Sprite, please,” Four says with a smile.

“Lemonade,” Three mumbles, glaring. “It’s called _lemonade._ ”

“Shut up and order, loser.” Four’s tone indicates that this is a debate that they’ve had many times before. Which is… Stupid. Like, there’s lemonade, and then there’s _lemonade,_ right? That’s how Eight understands it.

Three rolls her eyes. “Fine, fine. Could I get a Coke? Thanks.”

“And for you, miss?” Ah geez oh man, Eight hates ordering food and drinks and stuff. Because there’s always so much stuff. And she panics.

“Um, an ice water, please?” AH GEEZ OH MAN EIGHT DIDN’T EVEN WANT THAT BUT SHE’S COMMITTED NOW. “Thank you!”

“Aaaaalrighty then.” Jacob writes something down on his notepad. “Have you decided what you wanted to eat yet? Or should I ask when I come back with your drinks?”

“Yeah, we’re still figuring this out.” Three gives him a forced smile that almost looks natural. Jacob returns it and then leaves.

“So…” Four’s voice trails off as she drums her fingers on the table. “What exactly do you all want on it?”

“I am not fucking eating pineapple,” Three states. “Tofu? Tofu, I can _almost_ understand, but no fucking fruit should be on a goddamn pizza.”

“But tomatoes are a fruit, and they’re on pizza.” Four looks smug. “Do you eat naked pizza, Three?”

“You _know_ what I mean,” she snaps.

“No,” she says with an increasingly smug grin, “I don’t.”

“Like… Fucking, _real_ fruit. That shit’s not allowed on pizza.”

What?

“Real… Fruit?” Eight repeats. “Isn’t every fruit a kind of, um… Real fruit?”

“Tomatoes are basically vegetables,” Three says in a matter-of-fact voice. “Trust me.”

… Huh?

“She’s just too much of a whiny bitch to eat pineapple,” Four whispers at a normal volume. “She’s too weak.”

“I am not a _whiny bitch,_ excuse you. I just have _standards,_ you blithering ass sandwich.” Ooh, that’s a new one! Eight likes hearing the, um… _Creative_ insults that Three comes up with. Currently, her favourite has to be “You sad fucking barfnugget,” if only because of the delivery. How does Three even say all that with a straight face? Just thinking about it makes Eight laugh a little!

“Standards my _ass._ You just can’t _stomach_ it. And if _I_ don’t have standards, what the fuck do you have? You listen to fucking _Wetallica._ Wetallica! AND I saw you dump relish on nachos.”

“Okay, first of all, fuck you, Wetallica has contributed more to the inkling race than anything _you’ve_ done, secondly, shut the fuck up, you moronic fuck paste.” … Oh. This is, um, accelerating.

Four presses her hand to her hearts and pulls her glasses down a bit as she gawks.

“ _Excuse_ you?” she asks.

“You fucking heard me,” Three snarls.

Four glares at Three. Three glares back. Eight is scared to see where this is going.

After a few tense seconds, Four bursts out laughing and Three softly snickers.

“You’re still disgusting, you dork,” Four mumbles.

“I never denied it.”

“... What?” Is this normal? Eight thinks this is too weird to be normal. Why would you be friends with someone and bond over insulting each other? Isn’t the point of friendship, like, the exact opposite of being mean to each other? “Are you guys okay..?”

“Yeah, we’re fine,” Three tells her, and Eight uses her tried-and-true skill of Accepting Everything. “Trust me.”

“But- You…” Eight makes a vague gesture of frustration. “You know what? Fine. You’re both so _weird._ ”

Three hums softly while Four shrugs a little.

“Sooo… We never answered the question, whaddya guys want on it?” Four drums her fingers on the table, looking at the menu. “We could get an extra large and split the toppings on it.”

“Sure.” Three looks over at Eight. “You’re cool with that, right?”

“Mhm.” Eight nods. “I’ll eat anything except for tofu, so get whatever.”

“You sure?”

“Yep, positive. Um… My standards are kind of at nutrition blocks, so…” Three purses her lips.

“I forgot you grew up in a sad fucking hole,” she says with an eye roll. “Yeah, okay, sure.”

“It wasn’t a _sad_ fucking hole,” Eight mumbles, a tad defensive. Sure, it might have been a _hole,_ but it… It could be worse. Valley life was infinitely better than the Ravine. The _Ravine_ is a sad fucking hole.

She watches Three do a visible double-take while Four starts laughing.

“... What?” she asks, confused. “Did… Did I say something wrong?”

“No, it-” Three stops to collect her thoughts. “You…”

“I’ve literally never heard you say _hell,_ let alone fuck,” Four explains for her. “So it’s kinda funny.”

“Um, sorry, then..?” Eight wouldn’t say she’s as bad as, like, _Three,_ but she’s… Y’know. A legal adult. She tends to curse more in Octarian, though. Still, is… Is it that weird?

“Nah, it’s fine. Just…” Three snickers to herself. “You never struck me as the type.”

It is at this exact moment when Eight remembers her friends are two monolingual idiots.

“I… See.” Eight coughs into her hand. The situation remains awkward. Oops. “So, um. Yeah. Just… Get whatever you’d like that isn’t tofu.”

“Half pineapple, half… Whatever Three gets?” Four suggests.

Three wrinkles her nose and nods.

“Yeah,” she says with a sigh, “Sure.”

“Great!” Four punctuates it with a clap. “So… What’s the grossest pizza topping you can think of?”

“Orange,” Three says after a moment. “Infinitely worse than pineapple.”

“That doesn’t sound awful?” It’s not the worst thing Eight’s seen.

Four looks at her with a look of mock-seriousness… Because Four probably isn’t capable of non-mock-seriousness.

“It what?”

Eight laughs nervously. “Yeah… You should see Pearl’s pizzas.” She shudders. “Mayo instead of tomato sauce, chili, potatoes, tofu, banana…”

Four gags. Three looks wildly uncomfortable.

“Wow,” is the word that break the silence that settles over them. “I think I have an actual reason to kill Pearl now.”

“Normally I try to stop you from killing people,” Four says quietly, “But I think this is the one exception.”

“... Please don’t kill my mom.”

“I can’t promise anything,” Three mutters.

“She deserves it,” Four adds.

“At least she doesn’t put relish on nachos.”

“ _First of all,_ ” Three starts after taking a deep breath, “Relish on nachos isn’t _that_ fucking bad. It adds _flavour,_ you fucking degenerate, and _no one_ seems to _fucking_ understand that. FURTHERMORE, ketchup ramen isn’t that bad _either._ And it’s not that fucking _awful_ with pickles and I know for a _fact_ you haven’t _tried_ it.” She takes another deep breath and starts shaking her leg beneath the table.

Four gags again.

“You’re cute when you’re mad,” Eight mumbles without thinking.

Four sighs.

Three freezes.

Eight suppresses the urge to slam her face into the table with lethal force.

There are times when Eight wonders if she should have let Tartar destroy Inkopolis, because if it was destroyed, situations like these wouldn’t occur.

But it’s fine! Eight’s never been better. Neeeeever ever ever!!!

“You… Uh, really think that?” Three asks.

Sheepishly, Eight nods. “I, um… I guess so.”

“Three.” Four taps her hand against the table twice to get her attention. “You realize you’re some variation of angry, like, 75% of the time, right?”

Three’s face deepens in hue. Eight’s pretty sure her face does the same thing.

“I, you, ummm, Four?” How does Eight word this? “Youuu…”

“Yes, Eight?”

“Iiiiiiii hate you! Thanks so much.”

There we go.

Four snorts. “Yeah, you’re not the only one.”

“... Are you all ready now?” No, Eight doesn’t jump like twenty-million feet into the air in surprise because that’s stupid and Eight isn’t stupid, Eight is _intelligent_ and _smart._

Four nods.

“Yeah, can we get an extra large pizza, half pineapple half…” She looks over at Three.

“Uh. Shrimp,” she stammers out.

“Half shrimp,” Four finishes, infinitely more articulate than Three. “That’s all, thanks.”

Jacob nods. “Okay, I’ll go put that in for you.”

* * *

They talk a bit more about this and that and everything in between. By the time the pizza arrives, they’re all fairly hungry, and it doesn’t last pretty long. Eight pays, as promised, and they leave around 8:00 PM.

“So, wha-” Three’s cut off by her phone ringing and she groans with a dramatic eye roll. … Well, it’s normal for Three, but, like, it’s dramatic for everyone else? Checking it, she sighs. “Hold on… Yeah, hi Jarrett. I’m fine, thanks for asking…” She walks a little bit away from Four and Eight and leans against the side of Sand Dollar as she talks.

“... Well.” Eight looks over at Four. “While she’s doing _that,_ I got a question for you.”

Eight does not know what the question is, but she’s a little scared. She’s seen that look in Four’s eyes once or twice before, but she never pinpointed what it actually _is…_ Besides a crazed, maniacal, “I’m an evil mastermind” look, but… Four wouldn’t be a very threatening villain.

“Hm? Go ahead,” Eight replies anyways.

“So…” Four lowers her voice. Spooky. “We _aaaall_ know you’re, like, _hella_ into Three, right?”

Eight feels her face heat up.

“I, um…” Well, there’s no _denying_ it… Though she wouldn’t really word it like that. “I… I guess so…”

Four nods a little. “Right. And literally everyone is aware of that. Like, _literally_ everyone who isn’t Three. Fucking moron.” Eight lets out a laugh that sounds like a giggle but isn’t a giggle because giggling is for losers, okay? “Alright, so, this is going to sound _crazy,_ but Three is _also,_ like, _super_ into you. Don’t give me that look, Eight.”

“How do you kn-”

“Eight. Come on.” Eight sighs quietly. “For starters, Three claims to be super stoic and cool and shit but she’s just emotionally constipated. She’s really easy to read once you get to know her. And, like, even if I _didn’t_ know her for twelve years… It’s obvious. Like, really,  _really_  obvious. Trust me.”

“Fine.” She steals a quick glance at Three, and then looks back at Four. “So… Um, what… What do I do?”

“Ask her out.” **_Ah._ ** “We all fucking know she’s too stupid to do it herself.”

“... What makes you think I’ll do any better? Like, I… You know I still don’t really, um… _Get_ all of the inkling courting rituals, right?”

“Eight.” Four’s tone is serious. It’s the most serious she’s ever been. “It is physically _impossible_ to be worse than Three in this regard. One time in high school she made out with this chick and then had the _nerve_ to ask me if I thought she liked her back.” … What.

“Um, it was high school, though, wasn’t it? She’s… Changed, probably?”

Four laughs dryly. “No. You know how she’s, like, a major workaholic? She invests all her time into either working or turfing, so there’s absolutely no time for mushy romance shit. I assure you, there’s literally no one as stupid as her.”

“... Ah.” Eight shifts awkwardly. “Um… Okay. I… I’ll ask her sometime, maybe…”

“No.” Eight blinks. “No, you will.”

“... Okay.”

Eight hears footsteps. Looking over, she sees a somewhat disgruntled Three walking towards them.

“My boss called, said I’m off tomorrow. He could’ve fucking texted me, but _noooo._ ” Three rolls her eyes. “Fuck you, Jarrett.”

“I, um, that… Congrats?” Eight wishes she could speak right. Because that would be cool. “Um, d-do… Do you want to do something tomorrow, or..?”

Three shrugs. “Yeah, sure.”

Four shakes her head ‘no.’ “I can’t, sorry. I have practice tomorrow.”

Eight was going to point out the fact that tomorrow is a Wednesday, and Four has practice on Tuesdays and Thursday, but then she understands what Four’s hinting at and her face somehow heats up more.

“I, um… Thank- Err, that… That’s fine. Have, um, fun, at practice, Four.”

Three narrows her eyes.

“Eight, did Four say anything to you..?”

“WHAT NO FOUR WOULD NEVER, HAHA, ANYWAYS, ARE WE GOING, OR, YEAH?”

“You’re such a shitty liar,” she mutters beneath her breath. “Whatever.”

“Oh, actually, this reminds me…” Four checks her phone. Eight can the screen from where she is. She doesn’t have any new notifications. “I walked here, and Pearl dropped Eight off… I don’t know where she lives, though. Can you, like, drop her off?”

“What? No, no, it’s fine, I can just call Pearl-”

“I’ll take you, it’s cool.”

“Thanks so much, Three.” Eight watches her face flush deep marigold.

“It’s nothing,” she mutters, eyes darting to the ground.

And if Eight grabs Three’s hand while they walk?

… Well, that’s her secret to keep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> posted this a day early bc im excited for this work haha... next update is going to be the 16th  
> tumblr: h-roshot


	3. In which Three doesn't smell completely awful for once

“So, uh… What kinda music do you listen to?” Three asks. They’d been in the car for a bit now, driving in silence. Eight isn’t facing her, instead looking out the window of the passenger’s side. Three always felt kind of awkward in social situations, though… Usually for different reasons.

“It’s nothing you listen to,” she mumbles. “Play whatever, I don’t mind.”

“There’s a difference between liking something and not minding it… C’mon, at least _tell_ me.”

“Well… Okay. Um, there’s this group or producer or something called Nemo’s Day at Wahoo World? I like some of their songs… And, um… There’s this artist, I think, called… Hematolagnia? I found them the other day… I really like their stuff.” Huh. “Sorry, sorry, I know-”

“Oh, I've heard of Nemo's Day at Wahoo World. It's not really my thing, though.” She taps at the steering wheel. “Haven’t heard of the other one, though. Is it breakcore?”

“Um… I think? I showed Marina a song and she said it was the musical equivalent of someone taking a shit on a keyboard.” Three snorts. “What? I mean, I… Kind of agree.”

“Oh, so you like shitty things?” Three laughs dryly and the words come out of her mouth before she can stop herself, “Shit, maybe that’s why you think I’m cute.”

Eight laughs. It sounds nervous and fake.

“I, um… Don’t sell yourself short.” Three feels her face warm a little more. “I, um, I just… I think you’re, um… Cool. I guess. And I know that this, um, sounds, like… Stupid, but, it… I figured…” Eight sighs. “... I thought you’d, um… Like to hear that.”

“... Thank you, Eight.” Three has to try not to tear up, which is… Strange. Three… Three doesn’t cry much, so… Not entirely sure why she’s close to now. “That… I, uh. Think you’re cool, too, if it counts.”

Looking over briefly, Three can’t see Eight’s face, but she sees her smile in the reflection in the mirror.

Again, Eight laughs. It sounds more genuine. Soft, even.

“Well, um… If you don’t mind me asking, what do _you_ listen to?”

Three shrugs a little.

“Metal and classic rock, for the most part. A-Sea/D-Sea, Wetallica, Aquasmith, uh… Led Submarine. Y’know, like… Suburban dad bands.” Eight makes a small noise of acknowledgement.

“Pearl listens to those bands sometimes. Sometimes I walk in on her singing along to it when she makes breakfast. It’s a little funny.”

“... Pearl cooks?” Pearl… Pearl never struck Three as the type to cook. At all. She always thought it was Marina that did everything, or maybe Pearl just hired a personal chef because she’s rich and it seems like something she’d do.

“Yep.” Three stops at a red light. It’s dark out now, and the city lights illuminate the streets. “It’s a hobby of hers. Apparently she had someone train her since she was young. I don’t really understand it, but it makes her happy… So I can’t really argue.”

“Has she tried teaching you?”

“Once or twice… I’ve made more progress than Marina.” Oh? “She’s… I love her, but she really sucks at it. I think she tried to fry the milk once.”

“... Why?” The light changes color and they start moving again. “And, uh, you live in Sunset Court, right?”

“Mhm.” Three hears a soft _tap-tap-tap-tap_ as Eight drums her claws against the inside of the car door. “And, um… Apparently she tried to make ice cream? I’m just as confused as you are.”

“... Fucking hell, I thought Marina was, like, _normal._ ” She sighs. “Though, I mean… She _does_ eat ketchup ice cream.”

“... Don’t you put ketchup on ramen? Are… Are you really in a position to say that?”

“It’s… Not _that_ bad,” she protests. “You just haven’t tried it.”

“I… Don’t think I want to,” Eight admits. “Sorry.”

Three laughs.

“Fine, fine…” Looking over at Eight, she notices the deep purple hue to her face. “... Are you okay?”

“I… Haven’t heard you laugh before.” Eight twirls one of the tassels on Three’s hoodie. “It… It, um, you…”

“Oh. Sorry.”

“Don’t be. It… It’s nice.” Three feels her face warm some more. “You… Um, You’re nice, too. In… Your own way.”

“Thanks,” she mutters. Tears threaten to prick her eyes. She clears her throat. “You too.”

Eight lets out a quiet hum. Silence settles over them. It continues for the next ten minutes that the drive to Sunset Court takes.

“This it?” Three asks.

Eight nods. “Yeah.”

She pulls into the driveway a little, parks the car, and unlocks the doors. Eight hesitates.

“Something wrong?”

“Um, I… I just wanted to ask if you, um…” Her voice trails off and Three sees her face flush purple. “I was wondering if you, um… If you would, um, like to… To go, um…” Is… Is Eight..? “... No, um… Fuck.”

“... Take your time?” Three suggests, feeling her hearts start to race. Eight- No, there’s no fucking way Eight’s… God. Fuck.

“It. Um. Sorry. I was…” She sighs. “I… Just. Um… Thank you, for… Everything.”

“Oh, it… It’s, uh, nothing, really.” She smiles at Eight. “I had fun.”

“Me too,” Eight replies quietly. “So… Um… Maybe we’ll get together tomorrow?”

“Yeah.” Three nods. “I’ll text you, okay?”

“... Okay.” Eight gives Three a small smile. “Um… See you. I guess. And, um… Thanks again.”

Eight exits the car and Three watches her enter the house before leaving.

(She doesn’t text her later. They don’t talk for nine days.)

* * *

Three sighs quietly as she enters the café. Forcing a smile, she gives her coworker at the register a small wave.

“Hi, Justin,” she greets, forcing fake enthusiasm into her voice.

“Oh, um… Hey, Summer.” Justin smiles back. “How are you?”

“Good, good,” she replies as she scoots behind him. “You?”

“Yeah, I’m good.” The store is relatively empty. Good. Justin drums his fingers against the counter. “Hey, can you get the muffins from the back while you’re there? Coffee’s almost done.”

“Course I can!”

Opening the door to the back of the shop, she hangs her bag on one of the hooks. The smell of baked goods hits her almost immediately.

Three fishes her glasses from her bag and quickly ties her tentacles up in a bun. Changing her ink to magenta, she decides she’s about as ready as she’s going to get.

Three scans the room for the tray of muffins. They’re on the counter, probably cooled by now. Stopping by a sink to wash her hands, she takes a deep breath. Generally speaking, she… Likes her job. It’s simple but not overly monotonous. It’s not life-threatening. It’s… Enjoyable, besides the bitchy vegans that come in at all hours of the day. Hell, even her coworkers aren’t that bad. Maybe she’d never _tell_ anyone, but she’s decently happy with her job.

Once her hands are clean and dry, she gingerly feels the tray with the back of her hand. It’s cool, or at least cool enough to hold, and she grabs them and pushes the door open.

“Are these them?” she asks, and Justin gives her a small nod.

“Thanks, Summer.”

“You know me, just doing my job.” It’s a line she figured she would use at her second, actually important job, but it fits here, too. Setting the tray down on the glass display, she slides the display door open. By now, Three has the placement of the various desserts committed to memory, and she puts the batch of blueberry muffins on the far right, top shelf. “The floor’s clean, right?”

“Clean from last night.” Three rolls her eyes.

“Justin, did we have customers today?” He nods. “Are the tables clean, at least?”

“They’re wiped,” he tells her, and she accepts it. “You care a lot about this… Dunno why.”

“I’m passionate about dumb things,” Three offers. “Were there more things in the back that you want me to get?”

Justin looks over at a nearby egg timer with ‘SCONES’ written on it in black Sharpie. “Scones have about ten minutes left.” He looks over at the next timer. “Lemon bars have five.”

She nods in acknowledgement and slides the display door shut.

The door to the shop opens with a small jingle of bells.

“I’ll take it,” she mumbles, and Justin nods and goes to the back. Standing up, she gives the customer her warmest smile. “Hi, welcome to Oceanside!”

“Oh, hey…” The customer’s voice trails off and she sighs after realizing. “Wait. You fucking work here?”

Waiting by the register, she taps her foot against the ground to the tune of the song playing from the radio. “Yes, I do. What can I get you today, ma’am?”

“Don’t _ever_ call me ma’am again.”

“Sincerest apologies, miss.” She’s sure her grin is nothing short of shit-eating.

“... Summer.” Four looks defeated. Three can’t help but laugh - genuinely, this time. “C’mon.”

“Fine, fine.” She leans on the counter, growing a bit closer to Four. “So, what would you like?”

“Uh…” Her voice trails off as she skims the menu written on the wall behind Three in neat chalk writing. “An espresso and a brownie, please?”

“Got it. For here or to go?”

“To go.” Three nods again. As she turns around to get a to-go cup from the cupboard, she realizes something. “Was this the place you were raving about for months?”

“Mmh, yeah, I guess so. I’m surprised I didn’t run into you before.” She pours the drink into the cup. “Unless… When did you start?”

“Seven months ago.” Four makes a noise of vague confusion. “You saw me a few times, but we never talked.”

“Really? How come you never told me?”

Three shrugs. “You never asked.”

“I don’t think I can come here again. It’s too weird,” she mumbles.

“Aw, you don’t want a budding autumn romance with me? It’ll be like those fucking online stories you read all the time,” Three replies. “Do you want any cream or sugar?”

“Just a bit of both, thanks.” She nods and adds it. “And… Summer, I love you, but you’ve thrown up on my shoes too many times for a fall romance.” Four pauses. “... You used to read those too, y’know.”

“Not _that_ often,” Three mumbles. “And it was only because the endings sucked. I also grew out of it.”

“Oh, sure you did.” Four rolls her eyes. “I’ve _looked_ at your search history. Anyways… Speaking of budding romances, how are things with you and Eight? Did you hang out last Wednesday?”

Three can’t stop herself from sighing. “No,” she admits. “... We haven’t talked since last Tuesday.”

“Why not?” She sets the cup on the counter.

“Does it matter?” she snaps, sliding open the case and grabbing a brownie and a few napkins. “There’s… You know she doesn’t like me like that, right?”

“My cod, you really are an idiot,” Four mutters. “I don’t have time to get into it right now, but… Trust me, okay?”

Three rolls her eyes. “Okay, whatever.” She rings up Four’s order. “That’ll be 753 C.”

Four gives a small nod as she pulls her card out of her bag. Three swipes it and hands it back.

“Thanks so much,” she says in that same bullshit customer service voice. “Please come again, Sarah.”

Four shudders. “I really, really hate that.” Taking her food, she hesitates a bit before leaving. “You wanna go out for ice cream later today? I can get Eight to come.”

“Mh… Sure.” She tries to sound uninterested but she feels her face warm slightly. “My shift ends at 4:30.”

Four nods. “Okay, that’s fine. Any time should work.”

“... Alright.” The tip jar clunks as Four drops a handful of change in it. “See you, I guess.”

“Okay!” Three doesn’t like the smile Four gives her. “See you around.”

(A fact that Three forgets: It’s a Thursday. Four has practice.)

(She only remembers it later, and by then it’s too late.)

* * *

Three finds herself fretting in her car, obsessing over her appearance in the mirror. Her tentacles are down and her ink is back to its normal golden hue. She left her contacts at home, so she’s still wearing her glasses. As a matter of fact, she’s pretty much just wearing her work uniform, minus the apron - a white dress shirt and some black pants and a pair of black shoes that aren’t too worn. They’re probably the cleanest clothes she owns, if only because she wears them almost exclusively for work. She thinks they smell like pastries and coffee, a far cry from the usual odor of sweat and ink that her clothes normally have.

She looks _presentable._ And presentable isn’t good enough for Eight.

Fixing her hair one last time, she sighs and grabs her bag. It… Would have to do. She’d really hate to keep Eight waiting. Three steps out of her car.

Checking the time, she sees it’s 5:00 PM. Good enough. Eight said she’d meet her between 5:00 and 5:30. And… Fucking Four had turfing practice. It’s almost like she _planned_ this.

Three checks the text again - ‘Is The Wharf okay?’ - as she walks down the street, stopping at the parlor. Sure enough, it’s called _The Wharf,_ and she pushes open the door and enters.

It smells sweet, which makes sense. An employee greets her and gives her a wave, and she returns it.

“I’m waiting for someone,” she tells them, and they nod. Three takes a seat at a nearby table and shoots Eight a text.

 **You, 5:03 PM:** I’m inside

 **Eight, 5:04 PM:** Okay!! I’ll see you soon, we’re like a minute away

 **Eight, 5:04 PM:** I’m so excited to see you again! We’ve both been busy recently though

 **You, 5:04 PM:** Same here and yeah works a bitch

 **Eight, 5:04 PM:** Haven’t things been quiet since Kamabo?

 **Eight, 5:04 PM:** Unless you’re working overtime which is dumb

 **You, 5:04 PM:** No I work 2 jobs

 **You, 5:04 PM:** NSS and a regular one

 **Eight, 5:04 PM:** Oh, really?? Where?

 **You, 5:05 PM:** Can’t disclose…… Its a secret

 **Eight, 5:05 PM:** >:(

 **Eight, 5:05 PM:** You’re no fun

 **Eight, 5:05 PM:** I’m here BTW!!

Three looks up from her phone and through the glass door into the street. She sees Eight wave over her shoulder at Pearl in her car, and then she starts walking towards the entrance to The Wharf. Eight’s outfit looks relatively plain, for Eight, all bright, vibrant hues that clashed and didn’t belong together in the slightest, although her hoodie is a dark grey with only some yellow writing on it and _motherfucker that’s Three’s hoodie why is she wearing it still?????_ She beams at Three with another wave, and Three feels her face heat up. A _lot._ Because she. Zuh. Damn you, Eight. Damn you and your dimples.

“Hi, Three!” she greets when she enters.

“Oh, uh, hey, Eight… What’s up?” Eight takes a seat across from her.

“I’m good! It’s nice to see you again,” she tells her, placing her hands on one of Three’s as she talks. Eight’s hands are warm. Three’s are not. “Have you been well?”

“Mh, I guess. Just working, mostly. You?”

“I haven’t done much at all… I guess I’ve just been getting lazy.” She laughs. “Are those clothes new? I haven’t seen you wear them before. I really like those glasses on you, they make your eyes pop. They’re probably comfier than contacts, right?”

“Nah, they’re my work uniform. Or, uh, a set of clothes I wear to work? It fits dress code, I guess. Dunno if it’s really a uniform. And, um, thanks? They… Are, if you’re wondering.”

Eight hums softly and nods. “Well, you look nice. You always do.” Her words are accompanied with a small squeeze of Three’s hand. Her face feels like it’s on fire.

“Oh, um. Thanks. You, um. Too. Yeah.”

She laughs.

Three thinks her hearts are about to burst.

“So… You didn’t wait here too long, did you?” she asks. “There was traffic… I’d be here a while ago if there wasn’t.”

“Nah, I, uh. Didn’t wait all that long, it’s fine.” She stands up. “So, you, uh… Food? Yes?”

Eight giggles. “Okay, you butt.”

“I’m not a butt,” she grumbles.

“Yeah you are,” Eight protests. “You’re a cute, stupid butt.”

“Yeah? And you’re a, uh… Toe.” Three resists the urge to die. Toe was the first body part that came to mind… So she said it. Fucking hell, she’s a moron.

“A toe?” Eight repeats. “... Gods, you’re lucky you’re cute.”

There are many things to unpack here:

1\. AH FUCK SHIT MOTHERFUCKER EIGHT CALLED HER CUTE AGAIN, THIS IS UNFAIR, _EIGHT_ IS THE CUTIE HERE NOT THAT THREE, LIKE, CARES, OR ANYTHING, BECAUSE SHE DOESN’T, AND SHE WON’T, AND SHE NEVER WILL, BECAUSE THREE IS _STOIC_ AND _COOL_ AND _ALOOF_ AND **_FUCK YOU_ **

2\. … She forgot number two.

3.

4.

5\. Oh, shit, she needs to say something

6.

7\. Seriously, she has to respond.

8.

9\. Error 333: Three cannot respond at this time.

10\. Dammit, she should really get better at handling complements.

11.

12\. HEY THREE

13\. BE THE ARTICULATE RESPONSE

“You. I, uh. Your _face._ Haha. Take that.” Eight raises an eyebrow. “Good. Face. Nice, face? Yes. Face.”

Eight softly smiles with a laugh. “You’re such a butt.”

“Do you. Uh.” Three looks around wildly. “Food.”

“... Let’s just go before you hurt yourself.” Eight stands up and pulls one of her hands away so she could walk while holding Three’s own. Not that Three, like, _minds_ or anything. Because she doesn’t. Because she _ah oof pretty girl hand pretty girl called her_ **_cute_ ** _ahahahahahaaaaaaaa_

The same employee gives them a smile as they walk up to the vast selection of ice cream and shit. Eight smiles back. Three is currently too stupid to do anything beyond Follow Eight and Not Die, which is slowly finding itself to be a lot harder than once imagined. Which is fine.

“Hey!” they say. “Just order whenever you’re ready.”

Eight spends a minute or two looking at the shit array. Three spends a minute or two trying to relearn speaking.

“So…” Their voice trails off. “If you don’t mind me asking, how long have you been dating? You’re really cute together, by the way.”

Three is no longer relearning speaking.

“Umm…” Eight gives Three a glance. Three is too busy Error 333-ing to respond normally. “We, um… Aren’t.”

“... Oh, you’re not?” Eight shakes her head ‘no.’ “Shit, my bad.”

“It’s fine,” she mumbles, casting a worried glance at Three, who is currently so fucking golden that she looks like a pot of fucking Squraft macaroni and cheese. “So, um… Which flavour do you like the most?”

“Me or her?”

“Um… You. I’m just giving her a moment.” Eight sighs quietly. “This happens a lot… She flusters easily.” Yeah, okay, Three’s going to ignore _that_ comment.

“Ah, alright…” They scan the selection of cold shit. “Weeell, it really depends on what mood I’m in. Today I’m feelin’ the fruitier ones. And I mean the actual fruit ones. Not… Ketchup.”

“Ket… Chup..?” Eight repeats the word quietly. “I… Didn’t know people _sold_ that.”

“Mh, yeah. Caught on after that Splatfest. Dunno why, I’ve always been a mayo squid myself.”

“Why… Would you willingly eat mayo?” Three asks, having finally relearned the act of speaking. “Mayo frosting is so much worse than ketchup ice cream.”

“... People besides Pearl do that?” When Three nods, Eight grimaces. “That’s disgusting.”

“Yeah. We had, like, a mayo frosting promo for a week or two. Sometimes people still come in asking for it.” She shudders. “Fucking awful.”

“Are you _ever_ going to tell me where you work?”

“Oceanside Café, like two blocks away.” Eight furrows her brow.

“... Why didn’t you tell me earlier?”

“‘Cause I’m an ass.”

Eight rolls her eyes. “Oh, so you’re an _ass_ but not a butt?”

“... Be quiet.”

The mayo heathen on the other side of the ice cream laughs to themself. “But yeah, if you’re wondering, I normally go for fruit. Everything’s always made in-store, so… I assure you, it’s all good.”

Eight nods. “Oh, okay. Thanks.”

Three scans the shit array. She has a decent idea as to what she wants… Even if she doesn’t even like ice cream that much. It’s just too cold.

“Can I get a small rocky road in a cone?” she asks. They nod. “Cool. Thanks.”

“Coooould I get…” Eight’s voice trails off. “A, um, small strawberry? In a cup.”

They nod again and start scooping out ice cream. After doing that, they ring it up at the register.

“That’ll be 930 C,” they say.

Three reaches into her pocket to pull out her wallet, but Eight lays a hand on Three’s wrist.

“I’ll pay for it,” Eight tells her.

“You paid for dinner last week, I-”

“Three, pleaaaaaaaaase?” She accompanies it with a bright smile and suddenly Three can no longer argue and just nods dumbly. Eight hands the employee her card and they take it.

A few moments later, and they have their ice cream and they leave the parlor.

“So… Um, why did we leave, exactly?” Eight asks quietly.

“I… Was following you.” They keep walking down the street.

“... Oh.” Eight tries to eat a bite of ice cream but she isn’t great at multitasking.

“Do you wanna, uh… Eat in my car, or something?” Eight nods. “Great, I’ll, uh. Lead you. I guess.”

As they walk, they talk about little things. Small details about their weeks, things they saw recently that made them laugh, tiny things about this and that and nothing at all. It’s comforting.

But at the same time, their ice cream is starting to melt, and Three’s really starting to regret getting a fucking cone. While it isn’t running down her wrist quite yet (thanks to some napkins), it is absolutely trying to. And that’s… Less than ideal. Bad, even, because Three’s shirt is white, and Three doesn’t want to bother removing a stain, and Three doesn’t feel like washing her shit or finding her other shirt buried beneath all the others in her dresser.

Eight managed to eat hers (which was slightly melted in a soupy way) in a horrifying display in which she basically just chugged the entire thing. Which might have been kind of hot. Not in a temperature way, fuck off. But still. Three’s really fucking hating the cone life right about now.

She takes a bite out of the shit after crossing the street, which is something Four gives her shit about too for whatever reason. Fucking hell, ice cream sucks. Why make cold desserts? It’s going to melt. It’s fucking stupid. What’s the point? Just to suffer? Three feels some of it dribble down her chin and she briefly panics. She goes to wipe it away with her sleeve but then she remembers it’s _white_ and _fuck_ and _eight just grabbed her arm why is she doing that? oh holy shit eight is getting_ **_awfully_ ** _close she-_

Eight licks her chin.

Three drops her ice cream.

What the shit.

“Fuck,” Eight swears. “Oh, gods, Three, I’m so sorry, I-”

Three looks at her and tries to communicate her plight. It is a plight that is, in fact, _cute girl just fucking licked me????? wh_ but it is also the kind of plight that leaves you very, very stupid. Because of that, Three sits there and is fully aware of how goddamn _stupid_ she must look, but she just doesn’t care enough to fix it.

What she does care about is the brief, half-second when Eight’s lip touched Three’s skin or how her tongue barely grazed Three’s own lip.

She cares deeply, and she feels a strong, nigh-uncontrollable urge to just kiss Eight right then and there in the middle of the street, her foot covered in half-melted chocolate ice cream.

Eight’s still babbling apologies and Three takes in the deep purple flush to her face. It’s a color she’s starting to grow fond of, a color she likes more and more the longer she knows Eight.

Three cups Eight’s cheek in her hand, brushing her thumb against it before she realizes what she’s done. She tenses, stops mid-movement - Eight tenses, halting her speech halfway through another apology. They wait - wait a while, or maybe just a few seconds - and Three finally speaks.

“It’s, uh… It’s fine.” Gingerly, she pulls her hand away. “Don’t… Worry. About it.” Three tries to smile and finds it to be much more genuine than she thought it’d be.

Eight nods, silent. Her eyes stay trained on Three for more than a few moments, watching her wordlessly. Shit, did Three fuck up? Eight almost always had something to say - at least, she did around Three.

“Sorry,” she says. “That- It… That was uncalled for, I-”

“I like your face,” Eight blurts out and then immediately claps her hands over her mouth.

It takes Three a moment to process that, and once she does, she feels her blush intensify and she can’t help but laugh.

Eight stares at her with a look that couldn’t be described as anything besides pure awe. Then, a bit abruptly, she shoves her hands in her pockets.

“You’re such a nerd,” Three mumbles. “So… Um… You, uh, wanna come over… To my place? We could, like, hang out.”

“I- Um, you. It. Yes. I would. Enjoying. I do that. Yeah, it, you, I-” Three raises an eyebrow. Eight sighs. “... Yeah. Also, um, your shoe.”

Three looks down at her shoe. “FUCK.” Dammit!!!! These were really nice shoes. She could clean it, but- _FUCK!_ It’s such a fucking pain. Fuck.

“Sorry, I- I can get you a new pair, it-”

“Eight. Do you realize how much shit you’ve bought me already?”

“What, the ice cream and pizza the other day? It’s not that much,” she replies quietly. “And this is kinda my fault anyways.”

“Did you knock the ice cream out of my hand??”

“No,” Eight mumbles. “But I _did_ lick you.”

“I- Yeah, you did, but-” She remembers the small moment when Eight’s lips touched her skin and she blushes. “... Still. You don’t owe me anything.”

“... You’re really nice, Three,” Eight tells her. “I’m happy I met you.”

 _“You too,”_ Three wants to tell her, but she turns around and quietly clears her throat as she tries not to cry. “C’mon,” she says instead, trying her best to force the whimper from her voice. “Let’s go.”

Eight doesn’t say anything about it, or much at all, but Three knows she heard it. She jogs up to Three’s side and slips a hand out from the pocket of her hoodie to grab Three’s own, giving it a gentle squeeze.

_“It’s okay.”_

It takes a lot of willpower to not just yank her hand away right then and there, and takes even more to stop herself from crying, because Eight cares, somehow, despite not really knowing her. Three steals a glance at Eight, steals a few - each detail, each bit, so _gorgeous_ from her bright, wide eyes to the small scars dotting her skin to her nose, crooked and slightly misshapen from a fight from so long ago, lasting like a memory.

Each glance hurts, stings like a stab wound, another metaphorical nail in Three’s metaphorical coffin. Each one aches and burns, because Eight is so, so perfect and Three is so, so _not._

By the time they reach Three’s car, Three’s okay - physically, at least. She gives Eight a small smile when their eyes meet. It’s brief and fake and not much at all, and they both know it.

Neither of them say anything.

Three forces a small pang of sadness away. Right now, things aren’t about her or her stupid, _stupid_ feelings. Things are about Eight and driving and nothing else.

She sneaks another glance at Eight, hoping to catch her eye, wishing she would talk.

Eight doesn’t. The car ride is silent.

And, _fuck,_ does Three feel stupid.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> remember when i said this was going to update the 16th? yeah. i lied. im a liar. a fraud. a cheat. a bastard. why? i wanted to post it. i just slapped my laptop. not because of this though.  
> tumblr: [h-roshot](https://h-roshot.tumblr.com)


	4. In which Eight helps fulfill a wish

Eight’s finger hovers over the the ‘SEND’ button as she briefly contemplates committing to things. On one hand, yeah, it’s probably a good thing to do, on the other hand, FEELINGS ARE REALLY DUMB AND SCARY AND STUPID AND SHE- YOU KNOW, MAYBE IT WOULD BE BETTER IF SHE SWUNG THREE’S CAR DOOR OPEN AND LET HERSELF DIE.

But then she’d respawn, and then she’d be fined for killing herself, and Three would probably be there with Pearl and Marina and Four, and Three, in Three fashion, would ask her, “Hey, Eight, what the fuck?” which would definitely be the worst possible way to confess her feelings, so…

 **You, 5:22 PM:** Hi, Four.. Umm, are you free RN?

 **Four, 5:24 PM:** Yeah, I just finished up, what happened?

 **Four, 5:24 PM:** You’re with Dumbass Mcgee right?

Eight quietly snorts.

 **You, 5:24 PM:** In the car, yes.

 **You, 5:24 PM:** I…… Think I screwed up

 **You, 5:24 PM:** So we were getting ice cream and we left the building and I got a cup and finished mine but she got a cone so hers was running down her chin

 **You, 5:25 PM:** She was wearing a white shirt from work and I didn’t want it to get on her shirt so I panicked and then I licked her

 **You, 5:25 PM:** So I think she hates me now because she hasn’t talked at all during the car ride

 **Four, 5:25 PM:** OK so

 **Four, 5:25 PM:** 1: Tatzelwurm below I didn’t think things were going to go like THAT when I left you alone

 **Four, 5:26 PM:** 2: She doesn’t hate you, trust me

 **You, 5:26 PM:** How can you be sure?

 **Four, 5:26 PM:** Well, where are you going?

 **You, 5:26 PM:** Her place

 **Four, 5:26 PM:** If she’s inviting you to her place she obviously doesn’t hate you

 **Four, 5:26 PM:** I think you’re one of like 3 people she’s invited there

 **Four, 5:26 PM:** Those people being me (her friend of 12 years), Capn (who is like family to her), and now you (someone she’s known for like 2 months)

 **Four, 5:27 PM:** So you can already see how much she trusts you

 **You, 5:27 PM:** Oh.. Really??

 **Four, 5:27 PM:** Yeah!!

 **Four, 5:27 PM:** Even if you only end up staying for like 10 mins before she kicks you out

 **Four, 5:27 PM:** It’s a pretty big display of trust

 **Four, 5:27 PM:** Has she told you her name yet tho?

 **You, 5:27 PM:** No, is she supposed to?

 **Four, 5:27 PM:** Eh. Just wondering

 **You, 5:27 PM:** Why? What is it?

 **Four, 5:28 PM:** I’ll let her tell you whenever she’s ready uwu

 **You, 5:28 PM:** What is uwu?

 **Four, 5:28 PM:** Oh man we don’t have time for that

 **You, 5:28 PM:** Okay???

 **You, 5:28 PM:** Well, um, while we’re on that topic..

 **You, 5:28 PM:** What is your name?

 **Four, 5:28 PM:** It’s Sarah

 **Four, 5:28 PM:** But you can still call me 4 if you want

 **You, 5:28 PM:** Yeah. I’d like that

 **Four, 5:29 PM:** Sooo are you going to ask her?

 **You, 5:29 PM:** Ask her what?

 **Four, 5:29 PM:** Ask her out

 **Four, 5:29 PM:** I know she’ll say yes

 **You, 5:29 PM:** That’s scary though!!

 **You, 5:29 PM:** What if she doesn’t????

 **Four, 5:29 PM:** 8 I promise you she will

 **Four, 5:29 PM:** You can do it!!

 **You, 5:29 PM:** Can I????

 **Four, 5:29 PM:** YES!

 **Four, 5:30 PM:** 8 you saved the world!!

 **Four, 5:30 PM:** If you can save the world you can ask 3 out

 **You, 5:30 PM:** But this is differentttt

 **You, 5:30 PM:** At least that time if I failed I wouldn’t have to live with it.

 **Four, 5:30 PM:** My god

 **Four, 5:30 PM:** You really are perfect for each other

 **You, 5:30 PM:** What?

 **Four, 5:30 PM:** We don’t have time to get into THAT but

 **Four, 5:30 PM:** You should really, really ask her out!! I promise you you’ll be fine

 **You, 5:31 PM:**...Okay

 **Four, 5:31 PM:** I’m serious!! You’re nice and sweet and a joy to be around

 **Four, 5:31 PM:** Hell, that loser would be lucky to have someone like you

 **You, 5:31 PM:** You really mean it..?

 **Four, 5:31 PM:** Would I ever lie to you?

 **Four, 5:31 PM:** Excluding all the times that I have

 **Four, 5:31 PM:** Would I?

 **You, 5:31 PM:** Well.. When you put it that way, I guess not

Three pulls into a parking spot and parks the car.

“We’re, uh. Here,” she mumbles, looking over at Eight. Eight feels her face heat up slightly. “So. Uh… Whenever you’re ready.”

“Oh, um… Right.” Eight slips her phone into the hoodie’s pocket and gets out of the car. It beeps after Three takes her keys out and locks it. “Soo..?”

“This way,” she mutters, leading Eight inside. She presses the ‘up’ button the elevator and waits for the doors to slide open. Once they do, she steps inside and begins mashing the button for the fifth floor. The doors slide shut.

Eight checks her phone again, feeling it buzz.

 **Four, 5:31 PM:** So are you going to do it?

 **Four, 5:34 PM:** Hello?

 **You, 5:34 PM:** Yeah.. I guess I should

 **Four, 5:34 PM:** Well, I probably should have asked this earlier, but do you even want a relationship with 3?

 **You, 5:34 PM:** Yes!!!!

 **You, 5:35 PM:** A lot!!!!

 **Four, 5:35 PM:** OK! So. You’re going to have to tell her then

 **You, 5:35 PM:** But.. Do I haaaave to??

 **Four, 5:35 PM:** 8 there is literally a better chance of me winning the lottery than there is for 3 to grow up and ask you out

 **You, 5:35 PM:**.. Fine

 **Four, 5:35 PM:** If it matters she’s a decent kisser

 **You, 5:35 PM:** Why do you know that?????

 **Four, 5:35 PM:** 10th grade she freaked out over being a shit kisser so I had to sit her down and teach her

The elevator stops and Three walks out, giving Eight a slight nod. She follows her out.

 **You, 5:35 PM:** I… Okay?

 **You, 5:35 PM:** We’re at her apartment now

 **You, 5:36 PM:** I’ll tell you how it goes!!

 **Four, 5:36 PM:** OK!! Good luck c:

She turns her phone off and puts it in her pocket. Following Three to her apartment, she takes in a deep breath and gives Three an awkward smile as she holds the door open for her.

Her apartment is pretty barren. There’s a beat-up, sad couch with a few sheets and blankets on it and a TV with a rounded screen and a thick layer of dust on top of it.

Three closes the door and kicks her shoes off. Eight gently slips hers off and sets them next to hers.

She flops down onto the couch and practically sinks into it. Three then sits up. “Uh… You can have a seat, if you want..?”

“Um… Okay.” Eight sits down next to her. Does she just… Go ahead and say it? Does… She not? Gods, this is _nerve-wracking._

She feels nervous. It’s the kind of nervous rush she’d get when doing a test, the kind of nerves she’d feel when she felt the balloon bag on her back start to pulse… Almost.

Maybe Eight prefers the feeling of testing, because when she tested, she get to try again. Eight had a redo. A second chance, a third chance, a fourth, fifth, _twelfth_ chance.

But this time?

Eight has _one._

And Eight fucking _hates_ that.

Her hands shake slightly. Her face is flushed a dark purple. She feels floaty and nervous and _warm,_ acutely aware of every little moment Three makes.

Eight inhales slowly. Her exhale is shaky and even slower.

“... Eight, is something up?” Three asks, concern visible on her face. It doesn’t look right. “Sorry if this isn’t, like, my place to really say anything, but you’ve been pretty quiet and you’re kind of worryi-”

“I LIKE YOU,” she blurts out, the syllables mushed together. Her face warms even more, if something like that is even _possible._ “... I like you, Three. I… Have feelings for you. Romantic ones.” Eight has to stop herself there. She has to stop herself before she tells Three how she dreams of her, how adorable she thinks she is, how she’s memorized every crack in Three’s lips and how badly she wants to kiss them. How Three’s nigh-constant scowl makes her hearts race, how her smile belongs in a museum, how her laugh puts the Calamari Inkantation, the song that changed her life, to shame. How calloused and blistered her hands are and how Eight longs to hold them and kiss each mark, each scratch, each imperfection, kiss them all until they fade.

She manages to say one more thing, and it’s an apology: “... Sorry. I… Know this is weird.”

Three doesn’t respond, not at first. No, at first she mouths the words Eight told her. Then her face flushes a deep, dark marigold as she realizes what Eight said. Eight’s starting to think she made a major mistake, and then Three speaks.

“You… Do?” It’s not so much speaking as it is croaking, or maybe a mix of the two. “I… Sorry, I just wasn’t…” A laugh escapes her lips. “Fuck…” she whispers, and it’s accompanied with a stupid, dorky grin.

“You’re… Not mad?” Eight asks quietly, feeling her nerves threaten to chew through her.

Three shakes her head ‘no.’

“I… No, I’m not.”

“... Why?”

“I… I feel the same way,” Three admits.

Emotions wash over Eight, ones she can’t exactly pinpoint. Relief? Happiness? It barely matters anymore.

“Really?”

“Y-Yeah.” She looks down at the floor and then laughs once more. Eight wants to hear it again. “I- Um, this is gonna sound dumb, but… Uh…” Three pauses a bit to try and find her words. “... You wanna, like… Date..?”

“I… Um, it… It’s not dumb. At least, I don’t think so. A-And, um, to… Answer your question, I… Um. Would enjoy that. A lot.”

“... Cool.”

Silence settles over them.

“So, uh.” Three breaks it. “What do you, uh, wanna do?”

She looks over at the TV. “... You want to watch a movie?”

“Oh, it’s, uh. Broken.”

“Why do you still have it, then..?”

“... I’m too lazy to get it fixed. Or… Get rid of it.”

Eight laughs. Three, never change.

“I have a deck of cards in my bag?” she offers.

“What, you wanna play Strip Poker?”

“At least take me out to dinner first,” Eight teases with another laugh, taking delight in the marigold hue to Three’s face.

“We just went for ice cream, is that not good enough??”

“Yeah, ice cream that I _paid_ for!!”

“I _offered!!!”_

“So??????” Eight glares at Three. Three glares back.

A few seconds pass, and then they both start laughing.

“You butt,” Eight mumbles, taking her hand in hers.

“You… Scrotum.”

“Charming.”

“... Look, you know I’m not good under pressure.” She shifts awkwardly on the cushion.

 _“That's_ what you call pressure?? You know you’re an NSS agent, right?”

“Yeah, but that’s, like, a different pressure.” Three sighs. “I’m talking about a, uh, social… Pressure. Thing.”

“A social pressure thing,” Eight repeats to herself and laughs.

“I-” Three flushes a darker hue. “You know what I mean.”

Eight leans back into the couch, scooting a little closer to Three. “You’re cute,” she tells her, simply voicing the words that come to mind, “And I really wanna kiss you.”

Wow, Eight didn’t think Three could get yellower. Or marigolder. Whatever!!!! Word choice isn’t important, the fact that her new girlfriend WHICH IS A REALLY COOL THING TO SAY????? AAAAAAA is blushing, like, a _lot_ is. Sometimes, Eight worries for her health. Blushing like that all the time is bound to do some damage, right..? Though, Eight will be damned if it’s not one of the _cutest_ and most _endearing_ things she’s seen on the surface so far.

“I, um, it, yeah, okay, if you want, you can, uh, do. It. I mean. Up to you, mhm, yeah, totally, you-” Eight gives Three’s hand a gentle squeeze. “RIGHT YEP IT CAN HAPPEN YEAH TOTALLY CONSENT IS A THING I’M DOING IT YOU CAN, YEAH, YES, BUT ONLY IF YOU WANT, IT’S NOT ABOUT ME IT'S ABOUT YOU AND WHAT YOU WANT AND IT YEAH.”

“Wow,” Eight mumbles. “Four was right.”

“I-It, she, uh, _what?”_ Three furrows her brow slightly.

“Um… You remember last week, right?” She nods. “Yeah, Four told me about that time in high school whe-”

“Oh, that _fucking_ **_bitch,_** "she mutters.

“If… You don’t mind me asking, how old were you then?” Eight asks. “Since… I figured it was, like, early high school, right?” Three makes a face. Eight raises an eyebrow. “Don’t tell me…”

“... Seventeen.” Eight bites back a laugh. “And it- Y’know, I- There was, like, NSS shit, and- Oh, come on, at least _try_ a little harder!!”

“Three. How old are you right now?”

“Eighteen, but-” She rolls her eyes. “Don’t… Don’t look at me like that. Come on.”

“You,” Eight states, “Are the dumbest, stupidest, cutest moron.”

“SPEEEAAAAAAAAKINNNNnnnng of,” she… Announces? Transitions? Tries-to-say-smoothly-but-fails-horribly? “You. I, uh, do you. Wanna kiss.”

“Yeah,” Eight says, voice soft. “I’d really, really like that.”

She lets go of Three’s hand and brings it up to her cheek, cupping her face. Eight can feel how stupidly _warm_ she is and she briefly wonders if Three has a fever or something because there’s no way this kind of thing can _really_ be normal but at the same time her face also feels hot and then the reality sets in and then-

They’re close. Extremely close.

Eight’s breath mingles with Three’s as she stares into her eyes. The heterochromia is unique and special and _stunning_ and Eight finds herself enamored with them. The dark red hue of her left, and the blazing blue hue of her right. She knows Three hates her scar, especially that one in particular, even if she never says anything about it. Eight sees how uncomfortable she gets when young inklings in the Square ask about it since _“It’s so fresh!”_ and Eight notices the edge to her voice when she tells them whatever excuse comes to mind first. To be fair, Eight doesn’t blame her for hating it.

She just wishes Three could see how beautiful it - and how beautiful _all_ of Three is - to her.

Eight tenderly strokes Three’s cheek. She blushes more when she does.

“You’re stunning,” she whispers.

“Um. You… Too.”

Eight moves closer and Three wraps her arms around Eight, and then their lips meet, and-

It’s like the whole world just fades away.

The kiss is so much better than any dream she’s ever had, and the gods know she’s had a lot. Her lips aren't the softest - they’re chapped and a little raw in places - but they still manage to be wonderful nonetheless.

When Eight breaks it, she feels warm and dazed and _good._

“So, um…” she starts, breaking the silence that settled over them. “Did you… Like it?”

“I- Um. Maybe. Maybe I would… Enjoy another, uh, taste.”

Eight rolls her eyes. “That’s so corny, you butt.”

“Y-Yeah, well..?” She huffs. “I, um… Please?”

With a quiet laugh, she swings her leg over Three’s to straddle her and wraps her arms around Three’s neck.

“Okay,” she says, “But only ‘cause you asked nicely.”

“Thanks…” And, right before their lips meet, she adds, “And, uh, I’m… I’m not a butt. So. Stop calling me one.”

“Yes you are! You’re _my_ butt.”

“... I- Shut up and kiss me, nerd.”

Eight laughs softly. “Dork,” she mumbles, complying anyways.

… Gods, Eight could stay here forever.

Three lets out a soft pleasured noise that sends a shiver down Eight’s spine. Which is: 1. Really cute and 2. Oh great Gods Eight would die to hear that again.

Her fingers curl into Eight’s shirt, pulling her closer, closer, and closer still, a silent plea for more. And, well, who is Eight to deny that?

They stay like that for a while, only pausing for brief half-moments for small breaths of air. Eight doesn’t know long they spent there. And, well, to be frank, Eight doesn’t care. Time stops mattering to her at some point, and she lets herself get lost in the sensation, a pure warm, euphoric bliss.

Eight pulls away, resting her forehead against Three's, both of them panting slightly. Slowly, her eyes open to the sight of Three's own staring back at her.

“Was that enough of a second taste for you?” she asks.

Three rolls her eyes. “You probably should have asked that, like, ten minutes ago.”

“Aw, don’t be grumpy, you butt.” Eight pulls her head away. “Besides, you’re the one that moaned.”

“... It’s not _my_ fault you’re good at this,” Three grumbles.

“You’re such a dorky, grumpy butt,” she tells her as she climbs off her. Sitting down beside her on the couch, she sighs, taking her hand in hers. Three mumbles something that she doesn’t catch, but it makes Eight smile anyways.

“Actually,” Three starts, “Why _are_ you so good at this, anyways?”

“You flatter me so much.”

“No, like- Didn’t Pearl have to explain what romance was to you, like, two weeks ago?”

“I… Who told you?”

“The mayo goblin herself.” Aha. “So… I was just kinda curious, I guess.”

“... Okay? Well, I, um… It’s not like you’re the first person I was ever in a relationship with. Octarian romance exists, but… It’s not nearly as defined. Inkling courting rituals are just so… Y’know… Convoluted. And stupid. We’d probably be together a lot earlier if it wasn’t for that.” Eight pauses. “Although… With how dorky and stupid you sound all the time, maybe not.”

“I _don’t_ sound dorky and stupid!” the stupid dork snaps. _“You’re_ the dork here.”

“Nuh-uh. You’re not getting away dork-free.”

“Why not??” Three whines, resting her head on Eight’s shoulder. Eight snorts quietly.

“‘Cause you’re a dork,” she states. “If you aren’t a dork, what are you?”

Three stops to think. “As ass.”

“A _butt,”_ Eight corrects. “You’re either a _dork_ or a _butt.”_

“You suck.”

“And you swallow.” Three lets out a loud, wheeze-like laugh that’s followed by a coughing fit. “What?”

“Where the _fuck,”_ she says between coughs, “Did you _learn_ that????”

“I think it was Four,” Eight replies plainly. “Either her or Pearl.”

“Fucking hell,” Three swears, wiping her mouth.

“Sorry,” she mumbles, not sorry at all. “But, um… What exactly do you want to do?”

“Uh.” Three pauses. “... I dunno. I don’t, like, have a lot here.”

Eight nods. “I know.”

“... You ever played Monopoly?”

“I don’t think so.” Three takes that as enough of an answer and ungracefully gets off the couch. “I guess I’d like to try it.”

“Sweet.” She drops to her knees with a dull _thud_ as she starts rummaging from beneath the couch. Three swears softly and pulls out a box. The lettering on it is faded and the top of it is coated with dust, but Three wipes it away and then smears dust on the couch… Which is kinda gross, but Eight’s kind of expecting it. “Just watch out, I’m fucking great at this game.”

Eight rolls her eyes with a gentle laugh. “Okay, Three. But… Please remember to teach me how to play.”

“Aw, but then you might _win._ "

“Gods, you’re such a loser.”

“You’re an assface.” Three sets the box onto the coffee table and starts setting up the board.

“Well,” Eight muses, “It’s a lot better than _scrotum,_ you butt.”

“Oh, now you’ve done it.” Three gives her a lopsided grin that Eight’s sure she’s returning. “Prepare to lose.”

“I’d love to see you try.”

(Somewhere in the universe, Four feels a deep, unbearable weight get lifted off her shoulders.)

(" _Finally,”_ she whispers. Marie cocks an eyebrow, but she doesn’t dare question it.)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> a word from our sponsors (aka my friend who proofread this):  
> "FOUR IS SUCH A BIG MOOD"  
> tiny detail that didnt make it in but is ABSOLUTELY canon: 4 has a small scar on her bottom lip from that disastrous time she tried to teach 3 how to kiss properly. thats around the point they stopped and she didnt talk to 3 for about a week  
> final update is going to be on the 29th


	5. In which Pearl panics a lot

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> look, its *basically* the 29th, okay??? id rather post it now, anyways... that way i dont have to focus on Not Being Seen Uploading Things To Ao3 In The Middle Of History

Pearl’s shit is officially flipped. No, it’s more than flipped. Her shit is in the Olympics for gymnastics _and_ ice skating. It’s rotating. Flying around willy-nilly. Going fucking bonkers. Her shit turned around, like, seventeen times mid-air, that’s how flipped it is.

“... Pearlie?” Marina calls gently. “I’m sure she’s fine.”

“Are you??” she asks. Checking her phone and seeing nothing new, she slams it down on the table and begins pacing frantically again. “Reena, she could have _died._ ”

“I don’t think she died,” Marina replies. How the fuck can she be so calm right now?? “She saved the world. I think she can handle being on her own for twelve hours.”

“It hasn’t been twelve hours, _it’s been fifteen,_ ” Pearl snaps and then groans loudly. “And she saved the world _with adult supervision._ ”

Marina drums her fingers on the table as she takes a long sip of her coffee. “Three’s an adult, you know.”

“Yeah, but she’s _younger_ than Eight.” Pearl huffs. “And I don’t trust her. She’s got bad vibes in her eyes. Aren’t you worried for our daughter’s safety??”

“Yes, Pearlie, those ‘bad vibes’ are called contacts.” Another long sip. “I’m a little worried, but… Well, you know how things are between them. They might have been… _Busy._ ” Pearl catches Marina’s coy smirk.

“Reena, now is **_NOT_ ** the time to be a hopeless romantic!!” She starts pacing faster. “I bet Three fucking stabbed her sixty million times and then, like, ate her fucking corpse or something.”

“You’re being a little irrational.” _Siiiiip._

“I am NOT!” she yells, and some of Marina’s coffee bounces out.

“Watch your volume, Pearlie. I don’t want a burn.”

“And I want Eight to _live_.” Before she can continue, she hears her phone ring and she races over to it, answering it without looking at the contact. “Hello?”

 _“Um, hi, Pearl.”_ Eight’s voice sounds groggy and husky, like she just woke up. Pearl puts her on speaker immediately. _“Sorry, you’re not busy right now, are y-”_

“EIGHT,” Pearl cries and she sees Marina wince. “Oh my cod, are you okay?!?! I thought you _died._ ”

 _“Um… Yes, I am… Okay.”_ Hesitant. Why does Eight sound hesitant? Is she okay? Is she being held hostage? Pearl starts pacing again. _“I’m with Three.”_

“Are you?” Marina asks. “What happened?”

 _“We…”_ Her voice trails off. _“... Fell asleep._ "

They both make eye contact. _“Don’t say it,”_ Pearl mouths. _“Don’t.”_

Marina does.

“Oh, did you, now?” She takes another sip of coffee. “And what’d you do before that?”

Eight goes quiet.

 _“... Things.”_ Marina snorts. _“Why?”_

“Pearlie was convinced Three _killed_ you.”

“Yeah?! And _you_ were convinced they _fucked._ "

She hears Eight make a noise of vague shock on the other end.

_“What???”_

“Did you?” Marina asks.

“Reena, c’mon-”

 _“I, um…”_ She can’t see her right now, but Pearl imagines Eight fiddling with the tassels on the hoodie she got spontaneously one day, or twirling her tentacles, or fiddling her thumbs. _“... No, but we were, um… Intimate?”_

“Oh?” They make eye contact again. No words are spoken. Three are exchanged: _I told you._ “Well, either way, we’re happy for you.”

 _“Thank you?”_ Eight offers.

“So, uh.” Pearl tries to change the subject. “What’re you up to now?”

 _“Oh, Three’s making breakfast. She has work at 12:00, but she insisted…”_ Eight laughs. _“I’m sorry for worrying you, by the way.”_

“It’s fine,” she tells her. “Just as long as you’re safe.”

 _“Okay…”_ Someone - probably Three - says something to Eight. Pearl hears the ruffling of blankets and sheets. _“Um, I have to go, but I’ll see you later!”_

“Mkay… Bye, Eight.”

“See you!” Marina says with a wave they both know Eight can’t see.

_Click._

“You owe me 5000 C,” Marina says, taking another sip of her drink. It’s a trivial amount, but it’s not the money that matters here.

Pearl rolls her eyes with a laugh. “Fine.” It’s a bet she’s okay with losing for once.

* * *

 Three sighs quietly as she transfers a tray of cookies into the display. Today… So far, it's been good. Yesterday, too. If she thinks about it enough, she can still taste Eight on her lips, and the thought makes her face warm.

Sliding the door shut, she hears the bells ring. Standing up, she gives them a warm smile.

“Hi, welcome to Oceanside, how are you today?”

“Summer, fancy seeing you again,” Four greets. “I’m alright, thanks for asking. ... But what about _you?_ ”

“... What about me?” Three drums her fingers against the counter.

“A little birdie told me things got a little _spicy_ between you and Eight,” she replies with a wiggle of her eyebrows. Three rolls her eyes.

“Yeah? And a little birdie needs to learn to _shut the fuck up._ ”

Four laughs. “C’moooon, how’d it go?? Did ya smooch?”

“... Shut up and order, loser.”

“No, totally not! You can’t speak to customers like that.”

“You haven’t bought anything, so you’re not a customer.”

“Ugh, _fine._ Uh…” She scans the menu briefly. “Espresso, bit of sugar, bit of cream.”

Three nods. “Here?”

“Nah, to go.” She turns around to go make the drink. “So… Are you and Eight finally a thing?”

“... I guess,” Three mumbles.

“Oh, what do you mean, you _guess?_ You either _are_ or you _aren’t._ ”

“FINE,” she says with a sigh, “We are.”

“See? It wasn’t just wishful thinking.” Three finishes making the drink and she sets it on the counter as she rings Four up.

“238 C,” she tells her. “And… Look, don’t act like you’re, like, some kind of outstanding fucking romantic.” Four hands Three her card.

“I mean, given the other people in our friend group…” Her voice trails off. “Or should I say, our acquaintanceship-with-benefits group..?” Four pauses. “Y’know, you might _actually_ have, uh, _benefits_ with Eight now.”

“... Just take your damn coffee,” she grumbles.

Four laughs lightly as she takes the drink. “Okay, okay, fine. But, like… Do you wanna go turfing later? I promise I’ll actually show up.”

“Sure.”

She shoots Three a smile. “Awesome! I’ll see you then.”

As Four leaves, Three smiles to herself.

It really wasn’t wishful thinking after all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so! this is the first multi-chapter work i've ever finished!!! its been fun yall... 28 page google doc  
> 1\. im writing a sequel to this! i thought itd be a fun, small project, and i thought wrong. oops. unsure of the length/when itll be posted, but some snippets are on my [tumblr](h-roshot.tumblr.com/tagged/snippets)  
> 2\. working on a collab with a friend!! no idea when thats going up either  
> hopefully soon, at the very least. im almost on summer break (give me like 3 weeks) which is exciting, kind of? idk what im gonna do during it... maybe learn how to drive? whatever  
> anyways ill shut up now. thanks so much for your continued support!!


End file.
